


Dragon Eyes

by ninchannie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Comfort, Fingering, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, Lots of nature metaphors, Love, Mark Is Very Horny, Oral Sex, Other, Really Only The Tiniest Bit, Self-Acceptance, Strap-Ons, Trans Mark Lee (NCT), Yuta Helps Mark To Accept Himself, Yuta is a God, belly bulge, finding happiness, self discovery, sexual awakening, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: It’s an abyss of blacks and browns and muddy swamp until suddenly, where Mark feels like quicksand is pulling him under, there’s the softness of moss under the pads of his feet. There’s bright greens and yellows and a sky so blue it hurts his eyes.And there’s a dragon. The same dragon he swears he saw on his way home that one evening.Its long body carries it smoothly through the air, curling and winding over itself and through the sky as if it is playing with the breeze. Maybe it is the breeze.OrMark finds love, and with it, a journey filled with sexual awakening, self-acceptance and unconditional support.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64
Collections: Trans NCT Fic Fest





	Dragon Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Time was not on my side with this one, but somehow we are here and it's finished! I have to thank MK, Eli and Milan for helping me out and Nico for helping me find the perfect pairing for this.
> 
> I only realized a day prior to the deadline, that the prompt was based off of a short film, Kiss of the Rabbit God by Andrew Huang. I didn't want to completely scrap everything I wrote, so I tried to combine both my vision of the prompt outside of the context of the short film, with some of the details from it. I hope the prompter will be happy either way. 
> 
> Yuta is genderless, going by they/them in this fic and Mark is ftm, using he/him. Yuta has a cock, calling it by that, and Mark's genitals are referred to as 'clit' and 'hole'. If that makes you uncomfortable, you can still read up to the part where Yuta and Mark eat on Mark's bed, smut only starts after that.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this fic!!
> 
> ~F

There is a proverb Mark’s grandmother used to tell him over the phone, whenever he would call after having trouble at school, or with his friends.

개천에서 용 난다

_A dragon rises from a small stream_.

As a child, Mark never thought much of it, took it as some sort of fairy-tale or fable. That nature possesses powers and gods, dragons even, that rise out of water.

Only when he was old enough, his grandmother told him what she took of it. That even from the most dire and sorrowful beginnings, a great man can arise. Because dragons were said to only come out of the deep sea, but even creeks and streams could house them.

The saying springs back into Mark’s mind for the first time again when it’s getting close to Christmas. He hasn’t talked to his grandparents in years, the distance and cultural differences having forced them apart more and more with each year. _He_ has grown. In more ways than just one.

But out of pure and utter emptiness that is only deepened by the bone chilling cold of December weather, the words come right back to him. Swishing through his mind like the slight breeze that flows around him.

He is just on his way home from work, at the brink of dawn and suddenly his fluffy hood is blown back and off of his head, hair breezing around his face and speckled with tiny crystals of snow.

That wouldn’t be too strange if it wasn’t for the _temperature_ of the sudden wind. It’s warm and soothing, like a comforting wind would blow on a late summer evening. The kind that travels through a field of flowers during spring.

And on top of that, it isn’t snowing, not anymore at least, and even when Mark turns around himself a few times to see if he has stumbled into the gust of a snowy storm, he is let down. No snow is falling anywhere around him, just appearing on the traces of hair around his temples and ultimately on the very tips of his lashes.

It makes him go cross-eyed in trying to take in the crystalline shapes, blinking them away quickly. But when he opens his eyes there is something in front of him, glinting in the most beautiful whites and pinks and icy blues, curling through the air for a few seconds before exploding into a cloud of snow.

Mark shields his eyes with his gloved fingers, suddenly feeling cold all over again, and when he puts them down it’s like nothing happened. There’s no snow falling in front of him, no crystals on his hair or lashes and no snaking form of iridescent colours floating through the night’s air.

He’s baffled, looking around frantically for a few times. First to his left, then to his right, but there’s nothing, even though he could swear he saw directly into the piercing eyes of a dragon before clasping his hands in front of his eyes. Everything appears to be perfectly normal.

Maybe he is stressed out from his shift at work and the general holiday stress. He’s tired and exhausted, that must be it.

-

On Christmas Eve, Mark and his family visit a shrine in Chinatown. Technically it’s not just _one_ shrine, but an abundance of altars and places of prayer for all kinds of religions and gods. It has become a yearly tradition ever since the family moved to Chicago when Mark was still young, and even after forsaking most of their beliefs, this is one thing he kept as a tradition for himself as much as a way to please his mother and father.

The snow is crunching under Mark’s boots as he follows his mother down the small alley next to a Japanese supermarket and through the dilapidated entryway of a building. Dirty subway bricks line the seemingly endless hallway with doors leading to different small shrines and remembrances.

Mark and his family walk past all of them and up a creaking set of stairs until they come to a halt in front of a glass door that leads to a balcony being held together by nothing more than a rusty railing.

In summer, plants would grow in the countless pots on there. It would probably look colourful and smell incredible, but Mark only ever goes here in the depths of December, so he wouldn’t know that for sure.

Patiently, he waits inside as his mother and father go out onto the balcony to bid their prayers and wishes. He wonders what god or spirit they are talking to. What their problems are. He can guess a few of them, but he hates to think of that on Christmas Eve.

That evening is for family and eating and presents, and not for him to get lost in a deep, endless spiral, that sometimes feels like his daily life.

When it’s his time, Mark spares few looks to the dying plants in the snowy pots and quickly turns to where he goes every year. It’s a small bench in front of a tacky red and green Buddha figure, the gold details having long flaked off.

Mark isn’t Buddhist, he doubts he’s religious in any certain direction, but this place is where he felt best to bear his biddings since he was a child. It doesn’t cease to calm him down now, either, even if the bench is uncomfortable under his thighs and the wind is cold in his ears, he feels calmer and more collected than he has in weeks.

With a deep intake of breath, Mark gets ready to talk, speak his mind out loud, but he decides against it at the last second, in case his parents were to eavesdrop. Not that they have a reason to, but Mark hasn’t felt safe enough to openly talk to them in a long while, so he doesn’t want to risk it now, when the only thing supposed to hear him is the nameless spirits and the icy wind.

There is a tiny orange pot next to the statue, a thin layer of snow blown across the soil and the brown remains of the unfortunate plant that used to grow inside.

Mark doesn’t know what it is, but his eyes keep being drawn to the small pot, his fingers itching to touch and before he knows it, he is pulling his woollen gloves off and grasps the ceramic in between shaking fingers.

There’s a strange warmth coming from deep within the core of the pot, from somewhere in the frozen soil, as if the roots of the plant are still filled with life and warmth, like a breathing organism.

Mark lets himself relax into the tingling feeling of his fingers as they wake up from the numbness of the cold winter air around him and closes his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths and begins to think about everything he wanted to speak out loud, to get off his chest like he does every year.

His thoughts get dark as all the memories and thoughts fill his mind, as he remembers every occasion that his mother or father or his co-workers didn’t respect his boundaries. Every time they use a ‘she’, a ‘her’, his deadname or anything referring to the parts of his life that never felt true to him.

It’s an abyss of blacks and browns and muddy swamp until suddenly, where Mark feels like quicksand is pulling him under, there’s the softness of moss under the pads of his feet. There’s bright greens and yellows and a sky so blue it hurts his eyes.

And there’s a dragon. The same dragon he swears he saw on his way home that one evening.

Its long body carries it smoothly through the air, curling and winding over itself and through the sky as if it is playing with the breeze. Maybe it _is_ the breeze.

All of Mark’s thoughts are pulled from his head as flowers and petals fly up around him and faintly tickle his skin, as if he’s not wearing clothes at all. His gaze falls down and where the body he knows should be, there’s a flat chest, a soft stomach and as he rakes his eyes lower, he can see-

No, that can’t be. Mark rips his eyes open and the illusion is broken as soon as it comes, his surroundings coming down on him with a punch to his chest as the sudden coldness hits him.

He looks down on his fluffy winter jacket, packaging him in tight, the picture of his body on that field of flowers still ingrained in his brain. It’s not really his, not in this dimension, where he can feel and touch his body at least. But he _has_ seen that other one, the one that feels _right_ , enough in his head and dreams, to swallow the disappointment with a trained numbness.

He sighs, making to wipe the tears away that gathered on his lash line, but as his gaze rises and falls on the pot in his hands, he is surprised to see the former dark brown form of the plant gone, a yellow petalled flower standing proud and healthy in its wake.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Mark mumbles to himself, very elaborate, and touches the flush green stem of the flower with a delicate finger. It feels warm to the touch, like it came fresh from the field of his earlier illusion.

For the first time in his life, Mark decides to defile a shrine, almost frantically stuffing the small pot under his jacket, trying to hide it with his arm but also not squash the flower as he leaves to go home for Christmas dinner with his parents.

On the whole way there, a strange warmth fills Mark up and surrounds him, like a curious entity was following his every step and overlooking his every thought. He feels safe.

-

Mark has to work on New Year’s Eve. He’s stood behind the counter of Dynasty Diner, the Asian-American restaurant he works at, cleaning up the gigantic pile of glasses and dishes that racked up over the evening as his boss ushers all leftover guests of the night out onto the streets. It’s a few minutes left till midnight, and they made the mistake of letting guests celebrate inside the restaurant one time, now cautious to never let it happen again.

He’s just loading up the dishwasher, kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, when his boss calls out for the kitchen staff and waiters still around, handing out shots of sake for everyone before flicking on the tiny TV mounted into one corner of the room. It is usually used to watch big games or parades.

When it’s Mark’s turn to accept the small glass, he bows deep, even when his deadname is called in a well wish for the next year. Even when he is asked to consider growing his hair out as a resolution, to fit more into the picture of what he should be. His eyes are filled with tears, but he bows and returns a wish for his boss, faking his best smile before raising his glass.

It’s not something Mark thinks he will ever get used to, the constant disrespect, the reminder that he isn’t man enough to be treated as such, and that he will never be. Usually, it makes him bite down hard on his tongue to keep from crying and has him swallow the sour taste in his mouth to keep from feeling sick.

But in this moment, a sense of comfort washes over him and he is reminded of the feeling of flower petals running over his skin in a spring breeze. There’s a voice in his ear, gentler than anything Mark has ever heard before. He can’t understand what it’s saying, but his heart doesn’t clench in grief this night, but from the feeling of being safe and unconditionally loved.

His smile is real when the countdown begins and midnight strikes.

Mark drinks the shot of sake and only stays a little longer to celebrate with his co-workers, quickly retreating to the kitchen to finish cleaning up his things. He wants to get home, technically his shift ended over two hours ago and he only stayed due to the typical New Year’s Eve run. But now, he needs to get out.

He clocks out and sneaks past the watchful eyes of his boss, maybe not as affected by him as he usually is, but Mark still is not ready to face a whole conversation of constant misgendering, even if he is feeling oddly calm and protected.

On his way home, he calls his family to wish them a happy new year. Loud music is audible over his mother’s yelling as she grants him a curt greeting. Well wishes have been cut short ever since Mark began hormone therapy.

He listens to her ramble about dinner and how Mark’s father drank enough to fall asleep before the countdown even started, how she is now talking to her friends over Skype and can’t get the webcam to work. It sounds almost normal, healthy and wonderful and all Mark could ever want in a family. In moments like these it is easier to imagine how things could be.

It hurts deeply to know that it’s just a pretty fantasy. All on their own, Mark finds that his feet carried him down the same route he walked that one evening, where he could’ve sworn, he saw the figure of a dragon in the dark of the night.

People are out and celebrating, fireworks lighting up the sky and filling the air with smoke as Mark bids his mother goodnight, but he feels the weight of loneliness as he twirls around himself in hopes to find another glimpse of iridescent scales and flowery breeze.

It doesn’t come, but instead the voice rings through Mark’s head again. _Go home_ , it whispers, high and low at the same time, thundering around him and over the noise of a partying crowd, but only for Mark’s ears to hear. _Let’s go home, Mark Lee_.

Baffled, Mark finds himself following the voices request without even blinking an eye, his tired feet carrying him down the familiar path to his apartment. _Who are you?_ he yells inside of his head, waiting minutes for an answer. Then he speaks it out loud. “Who are you?”

Mark knows somewhere deep inside of his soul, that this voice is part of whatever spirit he has been following him, protecting him, ever since he went to pray on Christmas. It’s like his skin is singing with an electric connection to the deity, knowing it closer than Mark ever knew anyone, as if they’ve been friends for a long time.

The deity speaks softer now, a theatrical voice ringing through Mark’s ears. _I’m here for you_ , it says gently. _You are safe with me_.

Tears brim in Mark’s eyes with a sudden wave of feelings. He knows it’s true, knows that whatever this spirit is, it is the safest place he will ever have. He is calmer and more grounded ever since he found it. Even if it’s just a ghostly touch and a spring memory, Mark knows from deep in his heart that this will be his home.

“What can I call you?” He whispers into the cold winter air, just as he rounds the corner to his complex. A gentle touch ruffles through his short brown hair, like wind is caressing every strand with the most delicate of touches.

_It will all be easier soon_ , the voice murmurs, sounding strange, tired and exhausted. _Call me Yuta_.

It’s the last sound breathed into Mark’s ear, before he can feel a weight lifted off of him that he didn’t know he carried. He’s alone again, but his heart is warm, cradled in safety and love.

It makes climbing his way up and opening the door to his cold, empty apartment easier. Turning the heating on, he allows himself the luxury of crawling up towards the warmth with his thickest blanket. It’s not often that he leaves it on overnight, it’s too expensive for his already struggling bank account, but tonight, Mark rests easily huddled up against it, right on the floor, but at least he feels warm all over.

When he wakes up the next morning, Mark’s back is hurting and his knuckles crack as he stretches under his blanket. He is quick to stand up and turn off the heating, finally peeling out of his work clothes and taking a quick shower to get rid of the sticky smell of restaurant kitchen clinging to him.

He makes himself tea and settles down on his windowsill, opening the curtains to let in the bright light of sun reflecting off of freshly fallen snow. What Mark doesn’t expect is the white envelope stuck to his window, completely unharmed by wind and weather.

Mark quickly opens his window to a gush of freezing cold air, grabbing the envelope that feels oddly warm in his hands, before closing it again. He sits down on his bed, cradling the strange warmth to his chest before taking a closer look at it. Of course, he already has an idea of who it could be from.

There are delicate flowers imprinted onto the paper, glistening like fresh rainwater running over an iron roof. They are blooming over mountains and under clouds, the pattern reminding Mark of the origami paper his father brought him as a souvenir after he visited Tokyo.

On the front, golden ink seems to swim over the paper, brush strokes forming characters in languages Mark has never learned, ultimately settling on four letters to spell out his name. On the back, the ink seems to sizzle as it forms another name: Yuta.

Carefully, Mark opens the envelope, gently pulling it open without ripping the paper. When he peaks inside, a multitude of different seeds have gathered at the bottom, a thin bracelet woven from white and sky-blue thread resting on top.

He pulls it out first and as soon as it’s pulled from the envelope, the bracelet seems to adapt a life of its own, floating through the air in small curls much like the dragon did in Mark’s dream on Christmas. He holds his arm out towards it, turning his palm up and the thin thread wraps around his wrist instantly, tying up in a near perfect knot.

As soon as it is fastened to fit Mark perfectly, he can feel something move through him, centred in the small bracelet. It’s pulsing at a constant rhythm, thudding heavy and hard like Mark’s heart is in his own chest, just a bit slower. Mark doesn’t know how he feels so calm and accepts all of it so easily, but it is Yuta’s heartbeat he’s feeling. He knows it deep in his soul.

With trembling fingers, Mark stands up and grabs all the bowls and pots and pans he doesn’t use on the daily. He has one nearly dead plant in his room, a poor palm that he promptly dumps into the shower to get the soil out and into the various containers that he placed down on his desk.

He really doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he can feel a smile forming on his face as a light laugh washes through him like bells chiming in the wind. Mark supposes he can’t be doing that bad if Yuta is laughing, so he continues his task and puts a few of the seeds into each bowl and pan, before watering them.

It looks a mess, his floor dirty with soil and his desk now unusable, but he’s fine with that, because something inside of him tells him that once these seeds start to sprout and grow, he will have answers. That everything will be fine, then.

-

Mark finds out that he can talk to Yuta freely and openly, whenever he wants, the other listening closely to every word and answering with soothing sounds in his ear, with a quickening heartbeat on his wrist.

He also finds out that Yuta can only talk to him at night, and even then, they are limited to quick, short answers. Still, Mark feels closer to them than he ever felt to anyone before, their connection mostly nonverbal and through sensations deep in Mark’s soul, placed there right by Yuta’s gentle fingers.

When they talk, their voice can come in all forms, human in both high and low tones, chimes of bells and gushing waterfalls that Mark can somehow conjure as words and give meaning to. He knows he should wonder more about it all, but those questions feel forced and harsh, not fitting into their easy way of being together on a constant. Mark has grown used to never feeling alone.

He decides to not worry about the _how’s_ and _what’s_. Yuta can be a ghost, a spirit, a god or demon, it doesn’t matter because to Mark they are a friend, family, home. Even if they are not together in person, Mark feels safer than any person ever made him feel.

And Yuta accepts him just how he is.

One night, Mark is tucked into his bed, all lights out except for a single candle by his bedside. He likes to look at the flame and imagine it to be Yuta, their flickering reactions and warmth that runs through him with their pure presence.

_I’ve watched you for a while_ , Yuta says, sounding like crackling lightning that particular night. _And there is something I still don’t understand…_

Mark smiles and hugs his favourite plushie closer to his chest, imagining it to be a fluffy, bodily version of Yuta. “What is it?” He whispers into the air.

_I’ve accompanied you to work twenty-three times now, and not once did anyone there use your name_ , the words make something uncomfortable churn in Mark, but immediately something settles over him, as if Yuta is there with a comforting touch. _They keep calling you something else and it makes you sad. I think I should have a better understanding of human language at this point, but that is something I can’t really grasp._

The thing is, while Yuta always makes sure to make Mark feel warm and at ease, they never stay away from more serious topics. They don’t talk to him like he’s something fragile, like he will break under particular harsh words, and that’s something Mark deeply appreciates.

So he takes a few deep breaths, gives the words their time to simmer through his brain, before he answers. “Well you know how, _uh_ ,” he begins, repeating the words he said so often before in his head to hopefully speak them out loud without too much fear in his voice. Rationally, he knows Yuta won’t abandon him, but a deep fear never leaves easily. “You know how people are assigned a gender at birth, based on their, _uh_ , genitalia-stuff…”

_Genitalia-stuff_ … Yuta echoes, a hint of amusement to the crackling lightning in Mark’s ears that make him lighten up, feel more at home and less stressed.

“Well, because of that stuff, doctors distinguish between male and female, which they then assign a child based on their chromosomes and genitalia... and stuff.” Mark feels dumb, having no proper words or understanding of the medical reasoning behind it all, but thankfully for Yuta, it seems to suffice.

_Yes, I understand what you’re saying_ , they assure, wrapping another layer of comfort over Mark’s soul, who seems to be getting more and more distressed by the second, clutching at the duvet and cramping his legs shut with all force he can bring up.

“So, there are people that aren’t the gender they are assigned at birth,” Mark continues after a painful minute passes, his body relaxing with Yuta’s heartbeat pulsing through him in warm, sizzling waves. “I’m a man, but I was assigned female at birth. I have, well, societally deemed _female_ reproductive organs and my parents brought me up as their daughter until I realized what was wrong with me.”

As if they know exactly what to say, Yuta’s next words put Mark at ease. He knows they’re true, but to have a small reminder every once in a while, certainly does feel good.

_But there’s nothing wrong with you_ , they say, and the words fill up Mark’s mind completely.

He smiles and he can feel the same happen inside of him, from Yuta. “You’re right, there’s not. But there’s a lot wrong with some people. They call me _that_ name and misgender me, often just to see me struggle. But I don’t have it that bad… other people get killed for wanting to live as their true selves.”

There’s a palpable electricity in that strange connection Mark has with Yuta, and he can feel the hairs on his back stand straight with an onslaught of anger that isn’t his. But it subsides as quickly as it came, boiling down to a low simmer that settles deep in his bone marrow.

_They don’t have any right to do that_ , Yuta says and the lightning, as electrically blaring as it is, feels icy with wrath. But with the next words, Mark can hear his favourite childhood lullaby as Yuta cradles him to sleep with layers upon layers of fuzzy warmth. _I’ll make it better, Mark. I’ll help you with everything I have._

Right before he slips into a heavy sleep, Mark feels something akin to a kiss pressed to his forehead, petal-soft and sweet like strawberries. He only dreams of spring that night, dancing through a field with a dragon by his side.

It’s conversations and times like that which make them grow even closer, Mark soon feels his heart flutter with every trace of Yuta by his side. Thinking of them when he wakes, when he works, when he goes to sleep. Even when he showers or makes his tea, Yuta is taking up his mind with more than just his steady presence.

It hurts that by the time February strikes, Mark feels like they know each other inside out, but they are still limited to only his own body experiencing things, even though Yuta keeps promising a time to come, soon, peacefully, where everything will be good. Mark interprets it as a time for them to be together for real, but that too, is a question too heavy to ask.

-

He leaves for work one morning after watering the few seeds that sprouted, barely peeking out of their soil as the others still lay resting. Yuta told Mark to give them time, but Mark can’t help but feel that it must’ve been his fault the plants didn’t grow yet.

Work that day passes by slowly and heavily, like wading through a deep swamp completely engulfed in thick fog. The first half, Mark spends in the front, serving customers there until he takes a break where he eats leftovers from the day before. Then, he switches with his new colleague from the kitchen and begins to clean up and help with the easier tasks, cutting vegetables and preparing fryers.

It’s good for him this way, the tiring part having passed by noon so he can do mindless work in the kitchen, let his mind wander without needing to pay too much attention to his surroundings, or even having to talk to customers.

He’s having one of these moments now too, wondering about what he mostly wonders about these days, Yuta. Mark’s hands are starting to sweat under yellow gloves as he is scrubbing at a pan to get out the rest of the burned fried rice that the new colleague accidentally forgot on the stove. His mind has nearly shut off completely when a sudden sensation makes him stop in his tracks.

Or rather, when that sensation _stops_. Because the heartbeat he could feel in his own veins for over a month now suddenly vanishes, and he is left with a sudden tightness of his bracelet, alien and unfamiliar without Yuta’s warmth and sign of life.

Mark finds himself panicking easily, quickly finishing his task before nearly ripping off the gloves and washing his hands. He walks past the door leading to the restaurant to grab his water bottle, when he hears it, loud as if it’s happening right next to him.

“I’m looking for Mark, he works here,” a voice says, bright and pleasant. Mark never heard it before, but it is familiar like his mother’s voice, maybe even closer.

More silently, he hears his new colleague answer with a confused tone. “Mark? I think there must be a misunderstanding, there is no Mark working here.” Her voice is polite but slightly wobbly and she’s probably looking around frantically for someone else to help. It’s Mark’s fault really, for allowing his boss to introduce him, wrongly of course, and not telling her his name himself.

“Oh, I actually know for a fact that he works here, probably somewhere… _hmm_ ,” the person seems to be taking an obnoxiously long thinking pause, then their voice seems even closer, filling up Mark’s mind completely. “In there.”

Panicked, Mark’s colleague tries to stop them. “N-no, sir, you can’t go in there-“, but then the door to the kitchen swings open and Mark barely manages to take a step back, avoiding getting hit in the face by it only by a few centimetres.

It seems like time stops, quite literally, Mark finding his own body suddenly moving in slow motion as his mind keeps on running. His eyes seem to work normally too, flitting first to his panicking colleague who he can see through the doorway, stumbling in extreme slow motion with her hands reaching out to stop Yuta from going further.

But Yuta is out of reach, and when Mark’s eyes finally fall on them, he can feel his heart throb and something in the back of his head pull tight and into place, as if it was missing from there his whole life.

Yuta is unfairly beautiful, because of course they would be.

Nothing in the time since Mark has known them, talked to them, could’ve prepared him for it. He imagined their meeting to be less literal in the sense of two people meeting eye to eye, but him taking a hike in the woods and meeting the dragon spirit he has seen in his head countless times, lifting up from a creek or lake.

Like this, Mark realizes what must’ve taken so long, because Yuta is there in human form, at least fitting to its most basic form, because they are prettier than any human Mark has ever seen. Eye-catching, but simultaneously too handsome to look at for too much time, as if your retinas would burn just from staring too long.

They have long, silver-white hair that flows down to their shoulders, shorter in the front around their face. Icy purple peeks out here and there, too magical a colour to have ever been acquired by hair dye.

Their eyes are big and dark, a depth to their focus that makes Mark feel completely looked through, which he guesses isn’t all that wrong after having communicated with Yuta solely through his own mind for the whole time they have known each other.

Yuta’s body is slender, making them seem taller than they actually are, only reaching a few centimetres over Mark’s own form. They’re wearing geta, traditional sandals that Mark only ever saw in movies and animations. The shoes elevate Yuta a bit higher off of the ground, balancing their slim legs on two wooden heels, between which tiny bells are hung, silver like their hair and chiming with every step they take closer to Mark, at normal pace, unlike their nearly frozen surroundings.

In contrast to the traditional shoes, they’re wearing normal black jeans and a regular, thin white shirt, a wide haori hanging over their frame and hiding their arms nearly completely. Visible is only a hand fan peeking out of one sleeve, folded closed and decorated with a periwinkle tassel and another small, silver bell. The fingers holding it are scattered with dark marks, tattoos, Mark isn’t quite sure.

Mark looks at them for what seems like hours, but around him not even a second has passed. His body is trapped in the same strange time goop, but his eyes and insides seem to catch up with Yuta just fine, well physically anyway. Mentally, Mark feels like someone just dumped a bucket of water over him and threw him off a cliff.

Yuta is real.

It’s a realization he didn’t think he would need. He told himself that thing often enough, let it get whispered into his ears by Yuta right before he fell asleep almost every night. But seeing them in human form, right in front of him and on top of that being _stunning_ makes Mark’s heart race and his brain stop working.

And then Yuta speaks up and their wonderful voice is finally directed right at him.

“Hello, Mark,” they say and when they smile, Mark thinks a piece of his soul floats right through the gates of heaven. “Finally, we meet in person.”

It seems that his mouth is engulfed by whatever spell or magic Yuta has spoken to make time stop, because he can’t even try to move his tongue, as if it’s frozen in a thick, slow goo. But Mark knows that Yuta can see right through him, as if they’re still just part of his mind.

They smile wide and it makes their dark eyes curl into crescent moons, tiny wrinkles appearing at the corners and Mark feels his stomach erupt in a quivering sensation he never felt before. It’s almost nauseating, as if his insides have developed a mind of their own and are now pulsing at their own rhythm apart from his own heartbeat.

“Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your work too much,” Yuta assures with a small giggle in their voice that makes Mark feel _punched_ in the gut. “Just needed to say hello as soon as I came here.”

Following the words, Mark is engulfed in an embrace that smells like freshly mown grass, like a forest after heavy rain. Like flowers just having sprung from earth. Arms wrap around him tight and he wants to reach out and answer Yuta’s embrace, but his arms stay moving at an incredibly slow speed.

“I’ll wait for you at home,” Yuta whispers right into his ear and Mark can feel a strangled sound build up in his throat, but of course it can’t come out.

As quick as it came, the hug stops and Yuta steps back, sending Mark a last blinding smile before turning and walking through the door to the restaurant. Bells chime and Mark nearly falls forward when time resumes its usual flow.

There’s a gasp from outside too, from his colleague, then a gentle, “Oh, I’m very sorry, I must’ve made a mistake.” And before she can even stammer out a response, Mark hears wooden heels clack on the linoleum floor and the tell-tale ring of their entrance bell whenever someone opens the door.

Mark stands there for minutes, his co-workers side eyeing him and pushing past him with confused glares, but thankfully no one says anything. He could swear some of Yuta’s magic never leaves the restaurant, because his body feels heavy and slow, and the day passes with minutes feeling like hours.

-

Mark is confused, nervous, excited and feeling utterly unprepared. This is what he has been waiting for since Christmas, what made his winter bearable and his mental state feel better than it had in _years_. And finally, he can see Yuta face to face, in a human body even, and it’s like he forgot how to function altogether.

At work, he decided that Yuta probably needs to eat, right? He has a body after all, so that thought really isn’t that far-fetched. Or maybe it is, Mark really doesn’t know anymore.

It’s how he ends up carrying two giant bags of leftovers from work up to his apartment, his boss having even given him some fresh fruit as a parting gift for Mark’s beginning vacation that he takes every February. Before, that time was used for family holidays, now it’s solely for himself. And for Yuta, it seems.

Mark doesn’t know why, but a part of him expected Yuta to wait for him _in_ his place, somehow having gotten in with a lock-breaking snap of fingers, or however their magic works. But instead, he finds them sitting against his apartment’s door, back straight and eyes closed, brows furrowed as if they’re in deep thinking.

But as soon as Mark is rounding the corner of the stairs and lays his eyes on Yuta, their eyes snap open and back is that happy smile that makes Mark’s insides feel like overcooked spaghetti.

“You’re here!” Yuta exclaims happily, standing up almost too gracefully from their position against the door. They have a linen bag thrown over their shoulder, Mark realizes, big and bulky, probably holding whatever belongings Yuta has in the human realm.

Mark’s breath comes hard from climbing the stairs and the last bit of nervousness making itself known in a shuddering pressure around his ribcage. “ _You’re_ here,” he mirrors, eyes wide when he finally reaches the last step before his door. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Yuta smiles a bit wider and plucks the plastic bags of food from Mark’s hands. Every time their skin touches there’s a sizzle in the air. “I’m here and I’m here to stay.”

Fumbling for his keys, Mark feels like he could cry from happiness, the promise sounding real, palpable in the vibrations it rips through the air. He can _feel_ Yuta’s presence next to him even, a constant heat emanating from their body that is truly, bodily there and not just a comfort for Mark’s soul.

Instead of crying, he smiles too.

Finally opening the door, Mark goes inside, expecting Yuta to follow suit, but the other just stands there in the doorway with their dorky, happy grin and eyes so awake they burn right into Mark’s core and even deeper.

“Are you not coming?” Mark asks with obvious confusion in his voice. His eyes fall around the room, maybe it’s messy enough to repel Yuta, but it isn’t _that_ bad, and it certainly never made them flee from Mark’s mind before.

When his eyes fall on his desk, he gasps in surprise. Out of the bowls and pots, finally plants have sprung, juicy, colourful greens and yellows and pinks. It couldn’t have possibly happened without some kind of magic, because that morning there was nothing even close to being in bloom.

“I can’t come in before you invite me,” Yuta says and it’s the first time their smile falters. “If you want that, I mean. I don’t want to force you.”

Mark abruptly turns to the door and shakes his head. “If _I_ want that? Dude, you know I’ve been waiting for this day. Please come in.”

A sigh of relief leaves Yuta’s pretty mouth and they step inside with a small bow towards the room, toeing out of their sandals before closing the door. They stand there then, frozen in place, even as Mark walks over to lock the door with his keys.

It makes his heart run, because his body is so close to touching Yuta’s and it doesn’t even seem to disrupt or irritate them, because they just keep smiling and following Mark’s every move, in awe at finally being able to see the human face to face.

“I, uh,” Mark stutters out, trying to refrain from the need to take a step back. He looks at Yuta’s eyes, then quickly down at their hands where they are clutching the bags, then back up. Mark’s eyes fall to Yuta’s lips and _fuck why did they fall to Yuta’s lips_? And to make it worse, Yuta is bending down and coming closer and are they going to-

But then Mark’s heart stops for a short moment before calming down, when all Yuta does is wrap their arms around his shoulders and pull him tight against their body. It’s surprising how calm Mark feels in an instant, just like every time Yuta would comfort him in his own mind.

He can even feel their heartbeat again, now not on his wrist, but right against his chest, hammering just as much as his own, maybe a bit quicker even. Yuta might be some kind of godly, demonic, spiritual entity, but they’re just as nervous and excited about them finally meeting as he is.

Finally, Mark can wrap his arms around them too, his arms pulling tight around their skinny frame, feel their muscle work right under his palms. They’re so real and right there for him to touch. Mark doesn’t know what it means to have them there in a physical dimension, but he knows he will never let them go again.

“I wanted to do this for months,” Yuta whispers and the words tickle Mark’s neck.

He just nods, burying his face in the fabric of Yuta’s haori, right over his shoulder. They smell so familiar, earthy and fleeting under Mark’s nose, like their voice used to flit from sound to sound in his mind. He thinks he could get lost in drowning in their everchanging scent forever.

“You’re really here,” he whispers, more to himself to confirm that this is truly happening. Yuta pulls him even tighter against their body, the plastic bags crinkling in their grip and it reminds Mark. “I-I didn’t know if you need to eat, well you probably have to, so like, I brought like a _lot_ and I-“

“Markie,” Yuta interrupts him softly, pulling back just enough to be able to look at his face. They press their forehead against Mark’s, and it feels just like it used to, when Yuta was solely a part of Mark’s mind. “I’m right here, okay? And I’ll stay. It’s just me, Mark, just me. You know me, right? There’s no need to be nervous.”

Mark closes his eyes, breathing in the air that Yuta breathes out. It’s just them, just the only person he ever felt like he could trust with his whole body and soul. He can feel tears well up in his eyes, but he smiles and nods.

“You’re right, Yuta. I’m so happy you’re here.” A tear comes daringly close to rolling out from under Mark’s lashes.

The other chuckles lightly, pulling back now to finally place the food down on the kitchen counter. Mark follows Yuta like a lost puppy, and as soon as their hands are free, he intertwines their fingers with his. Yuta’s bottom lip is trembling.

“Don’t you dare cry, Mark Lee,” they say with a hint of teasing in their voice. “Then I’ll cry too and that won’t be a pretty sight.”

Mark nearly chokes when they of all things _smirk_ down at him, feeling his throat tightening up around the words he can already feel forming on his tongue, unable to stop them from tumbling out.

“I doubt there’s anything you could do that would make you any less pretty.”

He drops Yuta’s hands in shock, to clutch his fingers over his mouth as his face blushes an unknown shade of pink. Yuta’s eyes rise in surprise before they laugh, a bright chiming thing, not to make fun of Mark but more to hide their own flushed fluster.

They pry Mark’s hands away from his mouth gently, taking them back in theirs. “I’m glad you like how I look like this. I took inspiration from what I’ve seen inside your head and what you like.”

Mark only blushes further. “Y-you did? Wow that’s like, _wow_ , and I’m here looking like a toe.”

Laughter chimes through the air anew. “You’re very handsome, Mark. There’s a reason I enjoyed looking over you at all times.” And Yuta’s eyes sure support that notion, drilling into Mark with a depth that nearly sucks him in.

“Oh god, you’ll like actually make me melt into the ground, man,” he quickly says, trying to laugh his embarrassment away, before he can make things even worse. He quickly finds a saviour in the bags of food on his counter. “Oh right, uh, food? You know I usually eat on the bed, but I can try and clear the desk if you want to.”

Yuta bites their lip and g-d, if Mark isn’t a goner. “Bed is just fine for me,” they say, and Mark swears there’s something else in their voice even though he is certain it’s just his monkey brain whispering bad thoughts to him.

“G-good, uh, let me just…” He feels a loss when he pulls his hands out of Yuta’s to pull out some of the containers from the bags and puts them in the microwave to warm up. He has enough to last them at least two days, so he puts the rest in the fridge, along with the fruit to keep them fresh. 

Mark can hear his mother tut in the back of his head, about how you don’t put fresh produce in there, but really it happened one too many times that he forgot something out on the counter and it wasn’t even saveable by making it into a smoothie.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like Yuta minds much, or at all, they just keep looking after Mark who’s trotting around his kitchen and putting out everything they could need for their dinner. At one point they stop that however and walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, fixing the blanket to make an even canvas on their makeshift table.

It’s a sight that makes Mark step in his tracks, seeing Yuta climb over his mattress to pull the duvet tight into the corners. To see Yuta do something so utterly _human_. It just doesn’t fit into how Mark ever imagined them meeting to go.

He thought it would be like during their first encounter, when he saw a field of flowers in his mind’s eye and could watch the dragon curl through the air along with the flowery spring breeze. Mark would’ve put his bets on their meeting to go like that, never that he would have the pleasure of seeing Yuta be domestic, and right here, in Mark’s very own space.

“I can sleep on the floor, you know?” Yuta says then, from their spot sitting at the edge of a neatly prepared bed, as if that’s what had Mark stare them down.

Mark feels an embarrassed flush rise up to the tips of his ears at having gotten caught, quickly trying to cover it up by rushing to the microwave that still has a minute left before being done reheating the food. But Yuta probably doesn’t know that. Hopefully.

“You _uh_ ,” he begins sheepishly, his voice barely making it around the corner and out of the crook of his small kitchen. “You can sleep with me in my bed. It’s not much different from, you know… doing what we’ve been doing…”

He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate. Too awkward. Because really, it is something _completely_ different having someone lay next to him, physically there instead of just in his head. Mark hasn’t slept in bed with someone since he was a child, and certainly not ever with someone he finds attractive, he adores, like he does with Yuta.

“Are you sure?” Yuta asks, and suddenly their voice is much closer, directly behind Mark. Arms wrap around him from behind, as if Yuta is so used to touching Mark, even if just on a spiritual level, that they can’t keep their fingers away from him now for more than a few minutes at a time.

Mark’s breath catches in his throat and he’s glad Yuta can’t see his pink cheeks and wide eyes. “I’m very sure,” he admits quietly and thankfully the microwave chooses that as a perfect timing to _ding_ loudly, startling Yuta enough for Mark to feel them jump through their embrace.

The two part for long enough to get the fried rice transferred into bowls and to relocate to the bed, both sitting cross-legged and facing each other, their knees touching as they wait for their dinner to cool down enough to not burn their tongues.

It’s prompted by the delicious smell, that Yuta’s tummy grumbles, another so utterly human thing, it shocks Mark to his core. He can’t help but coo when the sound repeats and Yuta looks at their tummy like it’s a completely unusual feeling, unknown and alien. And maybe it is for them.

“These bodies sure are strange,” they say, giggling in time with Mark, who sets his bowl down to the side, to grab onto Yuta’s free hand. It’s warm from holding their own bowl, the skin soft and their fingers so _pretty_ , Mark feels almost bad to touch them with his own calloused fingers from days spent working at the restaurant.

He nods when they calm down from their laughter, spurred on by each other’s happiness. “They sure are,” he says. “But they’re also kind of cool…”

Yuta’s expression changes, becomes a tad more serious, yet stays gentle as always. “Yeah? Do you think yours is kind of cool?”

Mark knows the question stems from all the things he told Yuta, that make him uncomfortable about himself. The parts that feel wrong some days, and even hurt on others. But it’s gotten better, so much better, and Mark can’t lie, a lot of that stems from Yuta treating him like he wants to be treated. Like he deserves it.

“I’m getting there,” he says honestly, shuddering when Yuta’s fingers tighten around his and they draw a soothing pattern onto the back of his hand. “You’re helping me a lot with that…”

At that, Yuta’s smile falters for a second, before they catch themselves again. “I’m just doing what everyone should be doing… respecting you.”, Their smile is blinding like the sun itself and Mark thinks that maybe he should get his heart checked out. “ _Cherishing_ you.”

With that, Yuta pulls their hand from Mark’s, and boops his nose with the tip of their index finger, before grabbing their bowl. They hold it in their palms gently, bowing to it with closed eyes and a peaceful expression. Then they say something in a language Mark doesn’t recognize, but he knows it’s a wish to have a good meal.

“Enjoy your meal,” Mark mirrors a bit clumsily, a heat still in his cheeks from Yuta’s earlier words.

They eat sloppily, or well, Yuta does. Mark watches with some amusement how they gobble down on such a simple dish, as if they never had anything better. They even go in for seconds, which Mark isn’t sure where they have space for in their skinny body, but he gladly provides Yuta with more. He feels a weird protectiveness wash over him when he can watch them eat.

Yuta ends up volunteering to wash up, patting their full tummy on the way to the counter as Mark lets himself fall back to the pillows, still processing all the happenings of the day. He listens to the water run, over someone else washing _his_ dishes and he closes his eyes, pulling a pillow to his chest. _This is real_ , he has to tell himself. _This is really happening_.

As he often did over the last few weeks, Mark finds himself plucking on the bracelet he found in the envelope on the first of January, still lifeless and missing the heartbeat ever since earlier that day. But he supposes that’s because he now has Yuta in real life and can feel their real heartbeat at any given moment if he so chooses, right through their skin.

Mark must’ve been so immersed in his own thoughts that he misses the sound of water stopping and the padding of feet towards the bed. Because it takes him by surprise when the mattress suddenly dips down and the pillow is pulled from his grasp, replaced by a happily smiling Yuta crawling half on top of him, head resting right in the middle of Mark’s chest, ear pressed to him like Yuta is intently listening to the song in Mark’s ribcage.

They must hear the pace picking up, because they soothingly wrap their arms around Mark’s form and intertwine their legs. “Is this okay? I know you said your chest doesn’t usually give you much… was the word dysphoria?”

A bit breathless, Mark answers after wrapping his arms around Yuta’s warm body. He must’ve pulled the haori off, left in only the white, short sleeved shirt. “Y-yes that’s the word. And it’s _very_ okay, you just took me by surprise,” he says, and Yuta raises their head at that, so they can look into Mark’s face. They are mere centimetres apart. “This whole day took me by surprise to be honest…”

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Yuta hums thoughtfully, resting their head on Mark’s bony shoulder but still looking up at him. “I wanted to do that… surprise you. I worked it out so I could finish all my business before this weekend, because you once told me you take your vacation at this time and I didn’t want to disrupt your work _too_ much.”

At that, Mark chuckles. “Just enough to frighten my poor new colleague?” He asks jokingly and thankfully Yuta smiles in amusement at his words.

“I will admit, that was not my brightest idea,” the say, grinning sheepishly and Mark can feel his stomach doing that _thing_ again at the sight of crescent moons and giddy smile lines. “But can you really blame me? I was just so excited to finally see you like this…”

Mark has the sudden urge to push Yuta off and curl into a ball, maybe scream into a pillow while he’s at it. Yuta is so _cute_ , stopping whatever duties they had in their own realm to come to his side. To _stay_ by his side and be there even more for Mark than they already were.

But he doesn’t act on it, instead tries to memorize all curves and angles of Yuta’s face, the unique colour of their hair. Their eyes are like moving abysses, but not creepy or frightening, just warm and filled with a comforting, emotional depth. And then he does the mistake of looking down at their lips, finding a slither of pink tongue wetting the skin, making it glisten in the artificial lighting of the room.

Mark was a goner to begin with, wasn’t he?

“I’m not blaming you, not at all,” he breathes, and Yuta’s eyes flutter shut for a few seconds as hot air hits their skin. One could almost imagine them fluttering shut for something else. Mark tries to bury that thought in the deep recesses of his mind. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

His voice is rough and deep and Yuta curls tighter around him, as if it’s doing something to _them_ in a similar way their voices, or versions of such, affected Mark for weeks. “I hope you still think so when you realize that I’m here to _stay_. Not just for the duration of your vacation, if that works for you…”

“I don’t remember signing any adoption documents…”, Mark jokes, only to be hit by a confused furrowing of brows. “Oh, _uh_ , a joke… I’ll explain it to you another time. And as long as you’re okay sharing a shitty one room apartment with me you are very welcome to stay.”

“Perfect,” Yuta says and grins again. “Because I don’t really have any of your currency on me to go somewhere else.”

Mark shakes his head at the joke, but his smile gives him away. “That’s okay, I’m working for a reason…”

They fall quiet after that, both captured by the other so _close_ and he doesn’t know if it’s with horror or pleasure, but Mark realizes that Yuta’s eyes keep flicking to his mouth too, just every so often, and every time, their tongue would poke out between their cute teeth and wet their own lips.

“I-I’ll still have to shower later on,” he whispers after minutes of them just looking at each other and shy fingers grazing over exposed arms, clothed waist.

Yuta hums and their eyes close for a second. “You’ll have to show me how this all works,” they say and earn a smile from Mark.

“I’ll show you,” he assures, and his breath prompts a strand of Yuta’s hair to fall onto their forehead. Mark uses a gentle finger to swipe it away, Yuta moving himself up with the movement until they are hovering over Mark, not putting their whole weight on him, but enough to make him feel their all.

“Is it normal that I can’t stop looking at your mouth?”, they breathe, and Mark’s heart begins to beat an erratic song. “I know you humans press your mouths together, kiss, when you treasure each other, but is it normal for me to feel this way?”

Mark gulps down the wetness having collected in his mouth. “Y-you know Yuta, sometimes there is no normal way a-and we just do stuff because we feel like it. Like we will explode if we don’t follow that urge…”

Yuta looks at Mark like he holds the answers of the universe itself, even though it is much more so the other way around. “Sounds like you know that feeling…” They say and now they’re reaching a hand out to travel down Mark’s cheek, as if they’re pushing a strand of hair away where none is.

“I think I-”, Mark begins, reaching his own hands out to hold on to Yuta’s shoulders. “I think I found it today…”

A spark ignites in Yuta’s eyes, glinting through the shadows their long hair is creating around their face. They look different like this, even in a more human form they just appear so otherworldly and different, Mark thinks he could look at them all day and never tire from it.

But then they pull back completely, standing up with a shy smile before straightening out their shirt where it wrinkled. The empty space Yuta leaves behind makes Mark feel cold and lonely, even though they are right next to him still, but he tries to will the thought down along with the yearning tingle on his lips.

“I think this stomach is too full,” Yuta says and for the first time since they came clacking into Mark’s life on wooden sandals, they blush. Mark feels a shudder run down his spine at the sight, another thing he decides to lock up for a different time to think about.

In the now, he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, smoothing down his hair and looking everywhere but directly at Yuta. “I’ll quickly show you how the shower works, then you can take care of that too.”

He leads Yuta into the tiny, ratty bathroom, barely enough space for one person to move around freely, much less two, but they make do with Yuta clutching Mark’s shoulder while he explains to them how the flush of the toilet works, the knack of the hot water at the sink that only works one out of three times.

When he moves over to the shower, Yuta steps back as much as the limited space allows them, looking in awe at how Mark turns a knob and water splashes out from the showerhead that he took out of the handle beforehand. Humans sure have strange inventions.

He shows them the exact position where the water _will tickle all your fancies_ \- Mark’s words - and then hangs it back into the silver holder. “If you need something just yell, yeah?”

Yuta nods, hoping to look surer in their ability to rinse this body, than they feel. “You put your clothes off before, right?”, They ask then, before Mark can even move an inch. “There’s other devices for those?”

Grinning, Mark reaches out as if to ruffle Yuta’s hair, but he seems to decide against it last minute and instead acts like he wanted to push his own hair out of his forehead in the first place. It’s easy to look through, but Yuta doesn’t comment on it, just giggling to themselves before quickly settling back on a more neutral expression.

“Yes, clothes off before,” Mark says, still smiling but now considerably pinker. “If you need to do laundry tell me, and I’ll show you that. It’s a bit more- _what are you doing_?”

Yuta stops where they began to pull their shirt off, looking at the bundle of fabric in their hands and then back at Mark who turns even darker red before quickly making for the door. Before he can leave, Yuta chuckles. “I forgot you humans are so shy about your bodies.” Their voice is teasing and something in it makes Mark turn around, a confident expression on his features, that quickly falters at the sight of Yuta’s body.

They are skinny, prepubescent in the way their body hasn’t decided if it wants to be toned or soft, hard and bony or soft and smooth. The only certain thing are the pink scars protruding over their chest like an ancient scroll. Mark can’t read them, but the longer he looks the more distinctly his brain seems to come up with a tale, a legend, as if he’s learning a language just by looking at its letters. 

He catches himself before his staring gets too uncomfortable, eyes quickly snapping back to Yuta’s face. “I-I’m not shy!” Mark exclaims before basically slamming the door to the bathroom shut and storming into the kitchen to down an ice-cold glass of water. Or two. He desperately needs to cool off.

-

Sleeping next to Yuta is simultaneously better and worse than Mark expected. It’s better, because he feels safe and harboured, has the palpable proof of Yuta’s existence in their breathing and moving body right next to his.

It’s worse, because his bed isn’t per se big, and Yuta is a hopeless cuddle bug.

That wouldn’t be too much of a problem given that Mark is used to having Yuta close. _Very_ close, from them having been in his mind for months. But the newfound heart palpitations, stomach tickles and overall No Good Very Bad thoughts he seems to develop since Yuta walked into his life with a true and honest body, make it feel strange to have them right there.

Their arm is loosely thrown over Mark’s middle, like it’s the most natural thing. Both their pyjama clad legs long tangled and making the two lie back to chest in a tight embrace. Mark can feel Yuta’s every breath on his neck, every tremor of muscle against his skin. Their body is warm, hot even, and more so right under their arm and directly in their middle, pressing right against Mark’s ass.

And Mark can’t deal.

He’s squirming with every intake of air, Yuta’s arm feeling like it weighs tons but at the same time not nearly touching him enough. Mark’s legs are twitching, toes curling on Yuta’s shin, their feet bumping, and he knows it’s probably very annoying, but he can’t _help_ it.

Until he suddenly can, stopping every last movement when Yuta _groans_ and their voice is raspy and dark, sending shivers straight to Mark’s core. “Stop moving so _muuuuch_ ,” they whine right against the shell of Mark’s ear and he swears he can feel their lips on his skin.

“I-I’m sorry, I usually don’t move this much,” Mark whispers and he hates that his voice is quivering and giving him away so easily. Yuta’s arm tightens around him and then he can feel lips press over the thin fabric over his shoulder.

“I know you don’t,” Yuta breathes right through Mark’s shirt, making his skin tingle where it warms up from their breath. “Is it because I’m here like this?”

It could be considered a normal question, stress on the _could_ , because Yuta’s voice is laced with an obvious sting designed to hit Mark right where he doesn’t want it, making his heart beat erratically and his stomach churn in that familiar unfamiliar feeling that he _loves_. No, he hates it. Totally. That’s what he tells himself at least.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles, hoping Yuta won’t pick up on it but of course they do.

“Oh, if I’m so bad, maybe I should just,” they say, pulling their arm completely off of Mark. “Maybe I should sleep on the floor after all.” But they don’t even move to make an attempt at looking like they’re pulling through with their words.

Mark gasps anyway. “No don’t,” he says quickly. “I wasn’t serious… you’re not the worst at all.”

Chuckling Yuta whispers something like _I know baby_ , but Mark doesn’t let himself dream of even the possibility of that being really what they said. After a few moments of silence, Yuta still doesn’t put their arm back around Mark.

“Markie?”, they ask with a sudden shyness to their voice. “Can you turn around?”

It makes the other’s breath hitch, but he complies, untangling their mess of legs clad in checkers and gingham, both courtesy to Mark since Yuta apparently only brought day clothes in their strange big sack of a bag.

He turns around a bit awkwardly, not knowing where to look in the dim room, only lit by the streetlights outside. His eyes fall to Yuta’s bright hair, then quickly away to somewhere further down, before Yuta promptly decides to put matters into their own hands by grabbing Mark around the waist and pulling him tight to their chest.

Mark can feel Yuta’s heartbeat right against his, equally fast paced and frantic, as trembling fingers travel up and down the expanse of his back, trying to soothe. Resting his head on the pillow and trying not to think just how _close_ Yuta is, particularly their lips, he finds that the caress on his back is more distracting than calming, but he arches into the touch.

There is no space left between the two, except a few sacred inches between their faces. But Yuta decides that those are too much too, because he closes the distance like it’s nothing, pressing their forehead against Mark’s.

A tiny squeal leaves his lips, countered by a small giggle from Yuta. “You’re so cute,” they whisper, and Mark breathes in the words like they’re the only form of oxygen in the world. “It makes me… I kind of feel… hungry?”

There’s that endearing uncertainty in Yuta’s voice that makes Mark’s heart _quiver_. He needs a few moments to compose himself. “You can grab a snack if you want to,” he whispers then, and he can feel Yuta’s fingers press into his back as if they’re worried Mark will actually slip away and stand up.

“The thing is,” they say in that beautifully rough voice. “I’m not really hungry for food? _You_ make me feel hungry.”

Oh.

“ _Oh_ ,” Mark voices his only thought, cringing at himself for only a second because then a hand is on his cheek and he can feel Yuta’s gaze burn into him, even through the dark.

“Do you know this feeling?” Yuta asks and again it’s like he expects Mark to know everything there is to know in the world. In reality, Mark feels like he knows nothing at all, except for the fact that he is feeling just what Yuta is experiencing. But he can’t quite believe such luck.

He nods either way and it’s a rewarded effort when Yuta smiles wide enough for Mark to make out glinting teeth in the darkness. “I kind of want to kiss you,” he admits shyly, when Yuta doesn’t seem to speak up anytime soon.

Their smile falters and for a second Mark is worried for words of rejection, or worse disgust and insult. But it only last for the moment it takes for Yuta’s fingers to curl into his hair. “I kind of want to kiss you too…”

An anxious lungful of air leaves Mark’s mouth and he can’t help but giggle. “Should we? I mean no pressure, but like, since we both _want_ to, maybe we should, _uh_ , you know like… act on it?”

His brabbling gets stopped by Yuta pulling Mark forward and their lips finally connecting, a tad bit awkward and unaligned, but they both smile about it and reposition, noses not bumping anymore and lips fitting against the other’s nearly too well.

It feels good, like something inside of Mark finally slots into place. A restlessness he didn’t know he harboured finally leaves him and it prompts him to relax his whole body against Yuta’s, their bodies mending together wonderfully.

Yuta feels quite similarly, their trembling fingers now travelling freely over Mark’s body, through his hair and down his neck, over the expanse of his back and down until they can wrap their fingers around Mark’s skinny thigh and hike it up over their hip, only pushing them together even closer.

They mewl into the kiss when Mark’s pulls them in tight in that position, their mouth opening to allow a shy tongue to swipe against theirs. Neither of them has ever kissed someone like this, but with the first touch of their tongues shyly getting acquainted with another, they allow themselves to get washed away by the sensation and stop thinking of how it should be.

For them, it’s messy and wet, their lips emanating slick sounds that echo through the small room. Drool is running out of the corner of Mark’s mouth, seeping into the pillow underneath his head but he really couldn’t care less.

And Yuta seems to have lost some of their shyness, now openly moaning into Mark’s mouth when their tongues curl against another just right, when Mark experimentally closes his lips around Yuta’s and sucks, just to see what will happen. They feel on fire, their human body both hot and cold at the same time, skin standing alert with goosebumps, but their insides searing with warmth.

The both of them are still nervous, of course. Mark’s legs twitch in gentle shudders, his fingers thrumming as much as Yuta’s are in his hair and on his leg. And his stomach is doing the tingly thing again, just in tenfold. His heart and Yuta’s are both running miles an hour.

It starts to seep lower, Mark’s pulse echoing through his insides and finding centre right between his legs. He’s wet, seeping through his pyjama pants and probably even through Yuta’s, where their hip is nestled right against Mark.

It’s not completely unusual, Mark has been horny a lot, _a lot_ , since he started hormone therapy a few months earlier. What is unusual, is that he enjoys the timespan of it. Normally he would ignore all signs of his body throwing arousal at him until he’s home and in the shower, jerking off quickly and efficiently with closed eyes. The faster it’s done, the better.

Now, with Yuta, Mark knows they have been making out for a while, his exhausted brain getting fuzzy around the edges from a lack of sleep, but he’s still pressed wetly against the other, happy with every last bit of pressure he can get. And he doesn’t want it to end, _at all_. The realization feels euphoric as much as it is scary.

But Yuta seems to have different plans. They’re aroused too, completely hard against Mark’s body and it feels new and exciting, a bit funny even. But it’s the middle of the night and they need to stop. Yuta doesn’t know everything there is about humans, but they have watched enough dramas while visiting Mark’s mind, that they know it’s better to talk about these things, before one of the partners regrets it. They could never forgive themselves if they made Mark feel that way.

With a string of saliva connecting their lips, Yuta pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads back together. They are both panting, barely getting enough air in the stuffed space between them but neither feels strong enough to leave their comfortable, tightly pressed together bubble just yet.

“We should stop,” Yuta breathes after minutes pass between them. They can feel Mark has gotten even softer, even more liquid against them, with the weight of the day finally making itself show in tiredness.

With a nod that Yuta can feel where their foreheads are pressed together, Mark hums a slurred confirmation before making grabby hands for the blanket that was pushed down during their late-night activities.

Yuta pulls it back up as Mark turns around in their arms, keeping up their proximity, but getting into a more comfortable position for sleep. Yuta tightens their arms around him and breathes in time with Mark’s slowing breathing as he descends into a comfortable slumber.

He falls asleep with Yuta’s hard cock pressing against his ass, but it’s a comfortable sleep. The best one he had in months.

-

Morning comes and Mark wakes up in a cold, otherwise empty bed, and to the sound of his tea kettle whistling. For a second, he’s ready to grab his bedside lamp and attack whatever intruder is making some early morning tea in his kitchen, before the happenings of the day before come back to him.

Yuta is there, in a full-on human form. And not only that, no, more importantly, and the most pressing matter given Mark’s pyjama pants feeling a tad too crusty between his legs: they kissed. A lot and for a long time. _Oh g-d, Yuta and Mark kisse-_

“Good morning, sunshine,” a voice chimes in, bending around the corner of the kitchen nook, disrupting Mark’s running mind. “I hope it’s okay that I’m helping myself to some tea?”

A bit groggy, Mark wraps his blanket around himself and pads over to Yuta, rubbing sleep-tired eyes all cutely before realizing there are two big mugs ready with a teabag inside waiting on the counter, Yuta pouring water in before dumping the rest into the sink.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep and if Mark where anymore awake he’d notice Yuta shudder from it. “Thank you for the tea… You could’ve woken me up though, so you wouldn’t have had to figure out how to do it on your own.”

Yuta chuckles at that. “First off, I watched you do this enough times, to know my way around. Secondly, I’m pretty self-sufficient, if you ask me.”

“ _Mhm_ , say that to the poor toothbrush you abused yesterday,” Mark says with a stifled laugh, earning a pout from Yuta that shouldn’t make Mark’s heart pitch as much as it does.

“It was a learning process,” Yuta says fake-hurt. “I can’t believe you’d say something like this before even giving me a good morning kiss.” And then they pout again, pushing their bottom lip out even more.

It makes Mark freeze where he was tightening the blanket around himself, his breath hitching because he didn’t expect the topic to come up. He would’ve sworn Yuta would regret it, much less want to do it _again_.

At his shocked face, Yuta’s expression turns soft again. “We should probably talk about that, huh?” They say and gently lace Mark’s fingers between theirs.

“We can and we will, but first,” Mark says, taking together all his courage. “Good morning kiss?”

Yuta lights up like the sun itself, quickly huddling into pillowed arms and pressing soft lips against Mark’s. They both smile into the kiss and stay in the blanketed embrace until Yuta deems their teas ready.

With steaming mugs and awkward smiles, they settle back into bed to talk. Mark finds that it’s really not the best spot when the sole sight of Yuta on his mattress brings back memories of shy touches and sticky lips. But it’s the only place he has with his desk preoccupied by blooming flowers, so he swallows his flickering arousal and tries to ease his mind with a sip of the burning tea, searing his tongue on the way, but effective in its purpose.

“ _Soooo_ ,” Yuta begins after a minute of silence. “Kissing… is that okay?”

Mark snorts. “More than okay if you ask me,” he exclaims almost eagerly, before quickly calming his voice. “I mean, _uh_ , is it for you?”

Smiling, Yuta flicks a stray strand of hair behind their ear. “In the words of a wise man: more than okay.”

He probably blushes more than he needs to, but Mark can’t help it with Yuta complimenting him while looking freshly awoken like spring dew, bright and happy and gorgeous. The light seeps into the small room to perfectly halo Yuta and Mark thinks he just found out what the definition of love is.

Yuta giggles at his opened mouth and wide eyes. “Like what you see?” They ask just for the fun of it, knowing full well this appearance is modelled exactly after Mark’s desires.

“I-I do… a bit too much to be honest,” Mark admits, hiding his reddening cheeks by taking another scorching sip of tea. He should really stop doing that.

Frowning, Yuta cocks their head a bit. “What do you mean?” They ask shyly and Mark feels like those main characters in anime, that get a nosebleed as soon as they see a big-busted waifu.

“ _Uh_ , I mean that I really enjoyed what we did last night… like _a lot_ ,” he says, coughing right after to cover up his awkwardness.

Again, Yuta cocks their head, looking a lot like a confused puppy. “I did too.”

“Well, I mean that’s good, that’s amazing, but like, _uhh_ ,” Mark takes one more sip, hating himself just a tiny bit as the tea burns its way down his throat. “I liked it so much, I don’t think I would’ve stopped if you wouldn’t have. And I’m very glad you did.”

Yuta shuffles closer until their knees are touching. “Markie, I only want to do things you are comfortable with and we were both tired and, well, horny, but I would’ve never made you do anything you’re not explicitly okay with,” Yuta stops there for a second, before quickly adding. “And don’t you dare thank me now, this is really just common sense.”

Mark takes a few seconds to compute the words, swallowing every ounce in him wanting to thank Yuta, but they are right. This isn’t something he should be thankful for, just something that should be respected. Always.

His tongue forms words without Mark even wanting to say them out loud. “I don’t think I’m okay with being fucked,” he blurts out and his eyes widen when he realizes the words. “I-I mean my mouth is fine I think, but not, _you know_. Oh man, this is so embarrassing.”

The answer comes quickly and easily. “It’s not. This is exactly what we should talk about,” Yuta says with a gentle smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

Mark clutches the mug of tea like his life depends on it. “I, yeah, of course,” he stutters out. “Is there anything you’re not comfortable with?”

Yuta seems to think about that for a few seconds, eyes on the popcorn ceiling and lip worried between their teeth, before shaking their head. “I don’t think so, but granted, I never did anything with this body.”

“That makes us two,” Mark admits shyly, fingertip tapping against the ceramic in his hands. “But we can like… explore stuff together, maybe. Just if you want to, I mean. No pressure.”

Sighing, Yuta flicks Mark’s nose. “You’re so insecure, Markie,” they state and really there’s nothing Mark can add to that. “Of course I want to,” they say seriously before grinning widely. “But ask me out on a date first, will you?” They recite the line they saw that one time when Mark watched a drama.

Mark lights up and barks out a laugh. “Sure, I’ll take you out on one today.”

-

They decide to keep the date simple. Going to the local botanical garden, where Yuta swoons over every flower, every butterfly and bug they can find. They settle on a bench in a pretty greenhouse where they talk for hours, before their stomachs are growling too loudly to be ignored any longer.

Mark shows Yuta his favourite pizza place, where the crust is just soggy enough and the cheese the perfect level of nauseatingly greasy. Yuta barely finishes two slices, but Mark happily finishes theirs next to his own.

Instead of taking the L, they walk back to Mark’s place, to get rid of some of their stuffed tummies and ungodly calories. When they come back home, the sun is just about to set and they watch it from Mark’s bed, while talking over Yuta’s first impression of Chicago, of Mark. Of being in a human body.

They reveal that they gave up pretty much everything to be with Mark. That there’s no simple way of going back to how they were. That they limited their powers just to physically _be_ with him. It makes Mark feel some kind of way, but he finds himself storing those thoughts away for later, just enjoying the now where he doesn’t have work and can spend every minute at Yuta’s side.

He will have enough time to worry about what Yuta sacrificed for him when the bland everyday life of work starts again, but he has two weeks before that, two weeks that he will enjoy to the fullest.

Mark also finds out that Yuta has developed an unhealthy obsession with One Ok Rock during the time they were only by Mark’s side in their spiritual form, when Mark played his favourite playlist in the background. Yuta nearly falls out of the bed when Mark pulls up a video of them performing.

That’s how they spend the next few hours, cuddled together with Yuta’s head tucked under Mark’s chin, fluffy silver-white hair tickling his nose with each breath, but Mark wouldn’t have it any other way. Yuta is so close, holding him so tight, he doubts he could ever go back to a state of being without this proximity.

Their innocent cuddling slowly simmers out and into something else, when Yuta turns their head just enough to be able to press their lips against Mark’s throat, running up the ridges of his windpipe and down to the side, feeling his hummingbird-like pulse thrum under the thin skin.

Mark locks his phone where he held it up to watch videos and drops it to the side, somewhere into the pillows. He cranes his head back, closing his eyes to lose himself to the feeling. Yuta rolls completely on top of him, parting their lips to rake their tongue over Mark’s skin with burning traces.

“This okay?” They ask, nosing right under Mark’s ear and Mark throbs at the rough sound of their voice. He can feel them, hot and hard against his stomach, so he carefully spreads his legs for Yuta to settle in between, wrapping them around their hips to pull them in tight.

“More than okay,” he assures and moans when Yuta nibbles the skin right over his jugular.

He can feel where they press right against his own heat, jumping whenever Mark would yelp or grunt especially loudly, when they bite down just a bit harder. It’s a sickening pressure, in the best way, something inside of Mark begging Yuta to come even closer, to really crush him with everything they have.

So Mark digs his heels into Yuta’s back at the same time as he tangles one hand into the duvet and the other into Yuta’s long hair. They moan, high and pretty, and rut forward, grinding right against Mark’s clit.

It’s heavy, with Yuta’s full weight behind it and the seam of Mark’s sweatpants digs in just a tad harshly and he _loves_ it. He didn’t get off solely by pressing down and playing with his clit in a long time, but he thinks Yuta might be able to change that. G-d, Yuta is changing a _lot_.

Mark never expected to be comfortable with any prospect of sexual actions involving him to be touched there, not necessarily because he hates that part of him, but rather because he feels like it would always pose an unclimbable hurdle for his partner to overcome in acknowledging him as a man.

It’s really a mindset that he hates, because someone’s genitals do not in any shape or form influence who they identify as. He likes getting off how he does, he likes the feeling of sweet suffocation when he presses down hard enough to nearly hurt. It’s just that deep inside he worries it would dictate how his partner would feel about him.

But with Yuta, that’s of course not the case. So he gladly and easily lets them grind down against him, however their body urges them too, uncoordinated and clumsy, still learning, but Mark wouldn’t have it any other way.

It feels good how the space between his legs is filled with Yuta between them, how they fit against him and press down just right. Mark is wet, can feel it with every press of Yuta that pushes the fabric of his sweats into more and more mess.

The only problem, which arguably isn’t a very big problem on the whole, is how _hot_ it is. Mark can feel the perspiration wet his skin, where Yuta is still biting down and kissing his neck. He wouldn’t mind it too much if it weren’t for his binder, which he inconveniently didn’t get out of after coming home.

Usually when he wears it he’s good with keeping time in mind, to not strain his body too much, but with Yuta, they just changed out of their jeans and laid down in bed, and slowly but surely Mark feels like his chest is starting to swim under the thick fabric.

He pushes Yuta back, not off, just far enough so Mark can sit up a bit and grab the hem of his shirt to pull it off. He throws it to the side randomly, quickly followed by Yuta’s who seems to mirror Mark’s motions.

Their eyes drink in the sight of each other, Yuta’s pale frame looking almost soft in the dim lighting in Mark’s apartment, disrupted only by stark scars. On the other hand, Mark is still trapped in black fabric, his own fingers soon travelling to the clasps at the side of his ribcage.

Yuta watches in awe as he opens the binder and pulls it over his head, discarding it to the side just like he did with his shirt. There are read streaks where the fabric bunched up under his armpits, a thin sheen of sweat in the middle of his chest.

Mark can feel Yuta’s eyes on him, knows that he’s blushing at being so exposed for the first time. But just like before, he realizes that he doesn’t mind it all too much. He only wears a binder some days, usually because he wants to wear tighter shirts and feels more comfortable that way. But really, his chest is small enough to not bother him too much usually. And he told Yuta before, so they are unguarded in their admiration for Mark.

“You’re so handsome,” they say, a tiny bit breathlessly after a few seconds pass. Their shaking fingertips have fallen to Mark’s hips, drawing nonsensical shapes on the sensitive skin.

Mark smiles, hopes it hides his blushes when he grabs Yuta’s wrists and pulls them up to his waist, right where his ribs poke through the skin visibly. “And you’re very pretty,” he blurts, a tiny bit sheepish. “Is that okay? If I call you pretty?”

If the very healthy shade of pink on Yuta’s cheeks is anything to go by, they are very okay with it, and they confirm just that only a few seconds later with a nervous hitch in their voice. It makes Mark feel all kinds of giddy, but he simply pulls Yuta forward by their shoulder and connects their lips in a heated kiss.

From their position in between Mark’s legs, Yuta presses up right against him, the damp warmth nearly feeling scorching against their aching cock. Moaning against Mark’s lips, Yuta falls back into the same rhythm of tiny grinding motions against Mark’s middle.

Taking the opportunity, Mark drags his tongue over Yuta’s, loving the slick wetness and slightly rough surface. He’s braver now, spurred on by sparks lighting up his closed eyes with every rut of Yuta, so he explores with more courage, licking over the sharp edges of Yuta’s teeth and curling his tongue until he knows what the underside of Yuta’s tongue tastes like.

His arms wrap around Yuta all on their own, pulling them down and making their naked chests connect, changing the angle ever so slightly so now Yuta’s movements seem to run over Mark’s clit even more deliberately.

It makes Mark pant, whine with every movement so that he soon loses too much brain power to keep up with actively kissing Yuta. His mouth falls open until only their tongues are lapping against another languidly, sweetly.

Mark’s fingers curl, nails digging into Yuta’s shoulder blades when their breath hitches and their own fingers curl into Mark’s messy hair. They’re crying out, nonsensical tones and mewls as their pace becomes frantic, thrusting against Mark’s middle almost desperately.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” they moan. “F-fuck, I d-don’t know what, what’s happening- _ahhh_ -“

They come with a garbled moan, into Mark’s sweatpants that are too short on them.

Yuta moves against Mark through the waves of pleasure, when stickiness fills their also borrowed boxers and when they become sensitive enough to only be able to whimper pathetically. It’s as if they can’t stop moving, shudders and tremors running up their spine alongside their beautiful sounds filling the room.

It’s exactly those pretty noises that do it for Mark and he comes hard, bucking up against Yuta and pressing his head to the pillow to silence the scream that leaves him. He can feel his legs cramp up, probably caging Yuta in in a slightly painful manner, but neither of them seems to want to escape their position.

They stay like this until their breathing evens and then they kiss again. Mark feels vulnerable and sensitive, as if any movement of Yuta could pull him apart again, but Yuta seems to be careful, holding themselves up enough to not completely crush a breathless Mark under their weight, or possibly overwhelm him.

“Wow,” they say after even more time passes. When it feels right.

Mark giggles and nuzzles into the space right under Yuta’s ear. “Yeah, _wow_.”

They kiss for a bit longer, just quick pecks and short swipes of tongue and teeth, but there’s only so much time Mark can spend in sticky sweatpants and Yuta’s must feel even worse. So even though it feels cold and lonely, they eventually part and stand up on unsteady legs.

They shower together in Mark’s tiny shower. He washes Yuta’s hair with his three-in-one shampoo, body gel and conditioner and the other does the same to him. Mark might get a tiny bit horny again just from feeling the pads of Yuta’s fingers against his scalp, but Yuta seems to make a point in having nothing happen, even when their cock seems to think differently.

Mark ends up showing Yuta how to do laundry at one of the crappy communal washing machines in the basement of the complex before they settle back in bed. Mark is out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow, but Yuta lies awake for a bit, staring at the dark popcorn ceiling and just letting their mind wander.

This life is certainly different, they ponder eventually, but now that they’ve got a taste of it, they never want to go back to how they used to be.

-

Mark wakes up in the middle of the night, and his pyjama pants are drenched, clinging to him like a second skin. He can feel Yuta’s breath against his neck and their arm over his waist and good g-d, Mark is _horny_.

He shuffles around a bit, trying to force himself to sleep but it seems like his brain has decided that three thirty-seven in the morning is the perfect time to get obsessed with thoughts about Yuta. More precisely, Yuta’s cock, but Mark pointedly swallows down these thoughts.

His squirming must’ve been less unobtrusive than he thought, because after a few seconds Yuta stirs awake and tightens their grip around Mark’s middle, in the process pulling him in closer to them. It certainly doesn’t help Mark’s predicament.

“Can’t sleep?” They mumble all sleep huddled and it’s so _cute_ , should be _just_ cute, but Mark finds himself sighing and pressing his ass back against Yuta’s middle. He can feel them smirk against his shoulder. “ _Hmm_ , what’s up then, Markie?”

There’s no point in lying, not at all, so Mark blurts out the truth. “A-aroused…”

Yuta hums into Mark’s neck, the smile still on their lips. The vibrations course right through Mark’s bloodstream, making him feel blinded by pure dark _need_ but thankfully Yuta is there for him, understanding him.

“I got you,” they say and begin to rake their hand lower, over Mark’s soft tummy until they reach the waistband of his pants. They then graze a single finger over the fabric, in between Mark’s legs, not quite pressing down, but a phantom touch of where they made him completely lose his mind earlier. “You seemed to really enjoy yourself earlier.” Their voice is a gruff magical thing in Mark’s ear.

He quickly nods, head falling back to rest against the crown of Yuta’s. “Y-yeah… you can touch me there, you know?”, he says, hiccupping with desire. “My c-clit, you can touch me there.”

It’s incredible how Mark can feel Yuta get hard against his ass as he presses down delicately in between Mark’s legs. But Mark wants more, so he grabs Yuta’s wrist and pulls his hand up until he can guide it underneath them hem of his pants.

Mark props his upper leg up so Yuta can slide his slender fingers easier into the wetness between his thighs. He can feel the digits tremble as they run over his hot skin for a few times, collecting some of his wetness before Yuta presses the pad of his middle finger down right on his clit.

Mark wails, feels tears spring into his eyes as if he has waited for centuries for this moment. If it feels good when he touches himself, it’s ten, no scrap that, a hundred times better, when Yuta does it. It’s as if their touch is made of fire, or electricity, making him heat up even more with each press.

And Yuta seems to instinctively know what to do. They keep applying rhythmic pressure, sometimes testing limits in terms of harshness or duration until Mark is squirming and panting enough for it to be concerning.

They begin to rut against Mark’s ass at some point, not able to hold back with him feeling like pure heaven under their fingertips, sounding like a song straight from paradise. Thankfully, Mark only seems to be spurred on by that, moaning even louder as he rubs himself back against Yuta, simultaneously against their fingers that are still toying with him like he’s their very own instrument.

Like that, Mark comes for the second time that night, clenching his legs shut and locking Yuta’s hand between them. It makes Mark feel completely overwhelmed, Yuta’s hand now pressed right against him and he can’t help but rut over it, feeling completely mindless and like his body is floating, in the best way.

He’s slurring small _thank you’s_ and garbled words that Yuta answers with whines and moans against Mark’s neck. But then one word comes out clear and it makes Yuta stop in their tracks. And what should Mark do other than repeat himself. He’s just a very gay, very desperate boy.

“Y-your cock,” he begs again. “I need your cock.”

Yuta nearly gets thrown over the edge just by that. “Y-you what?” They ask, completely baffled, but Mark is already scrambling to push his pyjama pants down to his knees, trembling fingers already reaching for Yuta’s.

“I want to feel your cock,” he says with a steady voice, or well, as steady as it gets in a post-orgasm, lusty haze.

Still a bit shocked, Yuta cooperates with little resistance then, lifting their hips so Mark can pull their pants down enough to free their aching cock from its tight prison. Mark lifts his leg again so Yuta can push their length between them more easily, before he presses his thighs together again.

“Like this?” Yuta asks to make sure, their hand coming to grip Mark’s hip almost naturally, like that’s where it’s supposed to sit in a position like this.

Mark nods with a groan and lets his head fall forward into his pillow. “N-no penetration like this, you know?”, he clarifies, feeling utterly flustered. “And you know I can’t get pregnant, so you can even come there if you want to… Just fuck me like this, please.”

He can feel Yuta gulp and take a sharp intake of breath, before they nod. “Okay, wow, okay,” they say, as if they can’t believe their luck. “I’ll make you feel good.”

With that, they use one hand to lift Mark’s leg again, rubbing their cock over his slick middle a few times with the other, to lube themselves up. Mark squeezes his thighs even tighter together when Yuta’s hand comes back to rest against his hip.

Yuta is nestled right between his labia, the tip of their cock touching Mark’s clit just so. And then they pull their hips back and use their grip on Mark to thrust forward with enough power to make their skin slap against each other loudly.

It makes them rub over Mark perfectly, just like he imagined it would feel. No, way better. Yuta is a bit uneven in their thrusts, too overwhelmed by the tight hot feeling of Mark’s thighs and his searing clit rubbing over the sensitive tip of their cock perfectly.

They’re moaning filthy things with each pull and push of their hips, not realizing they must’ve slipped back into their own tongue until Mark moans loud enough to rip them out of their thoughts, his hand reaching back to tangle in Yuta’s hair and _pull_.

“O-oh fuck, Yuta, fuck you feel so good,” he whines, loud enough to provoke a possible noise complaint from his neighbours. “I l-love this, _ahh_ … Your cock, I love your cock.”

Yuta bites into Mark’s shoulder hard enough to make him yelp, feeling ready to explode if Mark would say anything more. Their hips stutter, but then he pulls back further only to fuck back into the tightness even harder, pressing down as hard as it’s possible.

“I love you,” they moan out, wetly into Mark’s ear and it makes his eyes roll back. “Love feeling your body, how you sound… Mark you’re so hot, you make me feel so hot.”

Mark stutters on another curse, trying to answer but then Yuta’s cock catches on his rim and the blunt head nudges inside a few tiny millimetres and he comes crashing down, harder than he ever came before.

He can feel his wetness seep down between his thighs, over Yuta’s length as they keep fucking him at a frantic pace and it feels like it never stops, like Mark’s brain melts inside of his head and comes running out of his mouth as his sensitive clit gets abused, forcing him to hit another orgasm, more shallow but intense either way, rocking through his body with muscle tremors and shudders.

Yuta is moaning highly, sobbing into Mark’s back as they can feel each wave of his pleasure come down around them, clenching them in even tighter where they keep thrusting, sometimes nearly slipping into something else, even though they try to keep as far from there as possible while pressed into Mark’s heat.

It’s like Mark’s body is begging them to cant their hips upwards just a tiny bit, angling their body until they can bury themselves deep in Mark’s body. With slurred words, Mark begs for it, his throat hoarse as he begs for _more_ and _harder, faster, please fuck me, Yuta_.

But Yuta doesn’t give in to the urge, even with their body aching when they stop moving. Their fingers are rough when they urge Mark to lift his leg up, when they wrap a hand around their dripping cock and press the tip up right against Mark’s clit, only needing a few quick movements of their fist to get hit by their release, coming all over Mark’s clit and shooting even further, ruining the duvet and Mark’s shirt, making a mess of his pubic hair.

They’re still coming down when Mark turns around and pushes Yuta back until they’re resting on the bed in the middle of the mattress. After pulling his pants off completely, he straddles Yuta with shaking legs, pressing down where they are still laying half hard against their stomach.

“F-fuck I wish you were inside of me,” Mark whispers and he sounds close to tears, but Yuta isn’t sure if they heard right over the rushing of blood in their ears. “How are you feeling?”

They take a few deep breaths, fingers pressing into the meat of Mark’s thighs as he keeps moving over their cock in tiny circles. “W-wet… everything is wet. I feel like I’m melting…” They admit shyly, giggling when the words come out and they realize how strange they must sound.

But Mark is smiling above them, loopy and wide, illuminated by the streetlight filtering through the window in the depth of the night. “Can I try something?” Mark asks, the words coming out rushed and breathy as if he’s scared of Yuta’s answer.

“Of course,” Yuta answers, their body stiffening when Mark sits up on his knees and takes their spent cock into his hand lining it up with his hole. “W-what are you-“

They get interrupted by one of Mark’s fingers pressing down on their lips. “I want to see how you feel inside of me. Don’t move please, I don’t want you to move, okay?”

With the finger still pressed over their lips, Yuta gives up on answering verbally, instead just nodding as enthusiastically as they can. They’re completely hard again, and it’s painful this time. Being surrounded by wet warmth surely doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

Yuta’s lips fall open as Mark lowers his body down, the head of their cock slipping away a few times before finally catching on Mark’s rim and slowly nudging inside. Mark pushes two of his fingers into Yuta’s mouth as he slowly sinks down.

It’s a blunt, completely new feeling, and he has to stop every few inches to calm himself down, to get used to the slight sting and strange feeling. Yuta moans around his fingers and it encourages Mark to slide down all the way, until there is no space between them where their hips meet.

He feels full in a strange but incredibly satisfying way. It’s like his body has been wanting this feeling for a long time, but only with Yuta does it feel right to have it. Mark pulls his fingers out of Yuta’s mouth with a trail of spit, bringing them between his legs and over his swollen, aching clit, further down until he can touch the very base of Yuta’s cock where it is disappearing inside of him.

Yuta cries out at the feeling, completely overwhelmed by everything that’s happening, by swallowing down the urge to prop their legs up against the bed and fuck up into Mark, and at the same time feeling like they should push him off and hide in the bathroom and take a very, _very_ cold shower.

But then Mark speaks, and Yuta feels okay again, like everything will be fine. “T-touch it, Yuta,” he says, his free hand reaching out to pry Yuta’s hand away from its vice grip on Mark’s leg. “Touch me.”

He pushes himself up a bit, to give Yuta enough space to push their hand between their bodies. They pointedly try to not touch Mark’s clit, worrying about how oversensitive he must be, but then they reach Mark’s own fingers, where they are exploring, and Yuta’s brain short circuits.

Their cock is throbbing inside of Mark, making him moan out loudly just from the small movement, and Mark’s skin is stretched around their girth, Yuta clearly able to feel where he is pulled apart to accept them in. _Oh fuck_.

“Oh fuck,” they say what they’re thinking. “I’ll come again, Mark, I’ll come again. Please, please, I can’t hold back.”

Mark shudders and clenches around Yuta, nearly tipping them over the edge. “Just stay inside, yeah? You can come but please stay inside.” With the words, Mark pulls Yuta’s and his own hand away and slides down completely again, his head lolling back at the feeling of being completely filled up again, and with a last clench of his muscles, he can feel Yuta shoot their load into him.

It’s strange how he can feel it against his sensitive walls, how it feels like it’s spreading him open even more, even though it can’t possibly be a lot. Mark falls forward when Yuta melts into the bed, completely spent, burying his head in the crook of their neck.

“I want to finger you in the morning,” he whispers into Yuta’s ear, yelping when Yuta rolls them over so they can lay in a more comfortable position but still stay like Mark wants them to. With their softening cock inside.

“You can,” they answer quickly. “You can do everything you want, but first we sleep.”

With a last kiss, Mark slips into dreamland feeling loopy and giddy. He dreams of flowers and a spring breeze, of fucking Yuta and of flying wales. It’s another comfortable, soothing night.

-

When Mark wakes up, Yuta’s cock has slipped out of him and he can feel what they left behind slowly run out of him. He feels fucked open, lose, even though they didn’t do much _fucking_ , more penetrating and seeing how to stay sane. He should feel sticky and disgusting, but instead he finds that he loves it.

Mark gently nudges Yuta’s shoulder and when they finally awake, he forces them to go to the toilet and shower with him, to have a nutritious and fruity breakfast and then to brush their teeth next to him while making silly faces at each other in the mirror.

It’s really not unusual for Mark to be horny, but with Yuta he seems to be cursed with an insatiable lust, because just seeing them bend over the bathroom sink, their cute ass perked out all prettily, makes Mark feel _hungry_.

He falls to his knees before he even realizes, pulling down Yuta’s pants and in turn making them yelp in surprise. “H-here?” They ask shocked, looking at themselves in the mirror, their messy hair and flushed face.

“I want to try something,” Mark says secretively, chuckling when Yuta whines. He then slowly rakes his hands up the back of Yuta’s legs until he can grab their ass and pull their cheeks apart.

They stumble forward with a moan, resting their forehead against the cold surface of the mirror, their cock hardening where it’s pressed against the ceramic of the sink. They feel exposed and open, wondering what Mark has planned for them, but then they feel a wet swipe of tongue over their rim, and they clench their muscles shut on instinct.

“What are you doing?” They yelp, knuckles turning white where they are clutching at the edge of the sink.

Mark just hums with his lips against Yuta’s skin, sending vibrations right to their core. “I want to finger you, but I don’t have any lubrication,” he explains, and Yuta’s eyes widen as their cheeks turn even redder. “Also, I really want to eat your ass, if that’s fine with you…”

Yuta gasps. “Eat my ass? But I need my ass…”

There’s a tiny smack to their right cheek, making their ass jiggle and their muscles relax. “I mean I want to do this,” Mark says before licking over Yuta’s tight rim again. “Can I?”

“O-okay.” Yuta’s voice is small, and they feel flustered, but their cock is leaking and only these small licks of Mark made them feel set ablaze with a fiery passion, so they are more than ready to explore more.

Mark dives in without another warning, licking a long, wet stripe from the base of Yuta’s balls to their hole, where he collects some spit and spreads it around the tight ring of muscle with the very tip of his tongue. It nearly tickles, but something about the hot breath hitting the skin right after makes Yuta clench, a garbled moan leaving their throat.

With trembling lips, Mark begins to run his tongue over Yuta a few times to get acquainted with the feeling, with what makes Yuta’s knees buckle and their breath hitch. They’re sensitive, shuddering under his every movement and Mark feels alive in how easily he can make Yuta lose their mind.

With small curling motions, Mark slowly loosens up the tension in Yuta’s muscles, pressing into their rim to get them used to the feeling and until they’re begging for more, a hand reaching back to press Mark’s head _into_ them.

It surprises Mark, but he quickly follows up with a groan that makes Yuta shudder, before he slowly prods his tongue inside of them. It’s tight, but they keep their muscles relaxed and allow Mark to slowly but surely work them open, to push his tongue in as far as he can go and until Yuta is a moaning mess.

He pulls off breathing hard, wiping his spit-wet mouth with the back of his hand before bringing a finger to Yuta’s rim. “Can I finger you?” He makes sure, just to renew what he told Yuta the night before.

“Y-yes, I want nothing more, please,” Yuta begs, and Mark pushes his free hand into his pants, palming himself to take some of the edge off.

He lets a big drop of spit drip over Yuta’s rim, swirling it around with his fingertip and slowly pushing the mess inside with small prods, before pressing down harder. Yuta stays surprisingly relaxed, even when Mark pushes into them completely.

They clench around his finger a few times, experimentally, before they shyly usher Mark to move. It’s a strange feeling, when Mark pulls back and Yuta’s body doesn’t seem to want to let him go, but Mark is quick to push in again, and repeat the motion a few times to get Yuta used to it.

With his second finger, Mark licks around Yuta’s stretched rim, before completely pushing the two digits inside. He can feel Yuta tense up more this time, but distracted by the sweet swipe of his tongue, they relax quickly, allowing Mark to curl and stretch his fingers, seeing what Yuta responds to.

An accidental brush over _something_ has Yuta wail, their back arching prettily as their head falls back to the mirror. “D-do that again,” they say, and Mark is quick to oblige, curling his two fingers a few times until he brushes over it again and Yuta cries out. “ _Yes_ , right there.”

They sound beautifully ruined, and Mark feels slightly sad to have chosen this spot to do this, because he can’t see their expression. But then he gets an idea and carefully pulls his fingers out, before tapping their hip to turn them around.

With sticky fingers he pushes their left leg up and places it over his right shoulder, spitting over his fingers again before easily burying them inside of Yuta once more. When he looks up like this, Yuta looks endless, their pale expanse of chest and neck leading to their face completely distorted in pleasure.

Drool is escaping their lips and Mark wants to lick it up, but he stays on his knees and instead bends down and licks over one of Yuta’s balls, sucking the soft skin into his mouth and making them jump as they card their fingers through his hair.

He begins working a third finger inside, just to see what will happen, and Yuta nearly rips a strand of his hair out, rutting their hips back against him until they both fall into an easy rhythm of Mark fucking Yuta with his fingers.

Mark keeps sucking on Yuta’s balls, alternating sides and biting down ever so slightly just to hear them hiss and before soon, Yuta wraps a hand around their length and begins to slowly jerk themselves off in time with Mark’s fingers filling them up.

“Come on my face,” Mark says and it’s what tips Yuta over the edge, quickly pulling Mark back by the hair to shoot lines of cum over his cheeks and lips, the bridge of his nose and some even landing in his hair.

Mark keeps rubbing over that spot inside of Yuta while they come, making them shudder in a delicious afterglow until they beg him to stop. They fall to their knees in complete exhaustion, somehow managing to work their slender fingers into Mark’s pants and bring him to an intense orgasm by pressing down on his swollen clit, keeping up a constant, painful pressure until tears spring into Mark’s eyes and he feels like his legs have molten away.

They’re sticky and messy, on the floor in Mark’s tiny bathroom, but they’re happy and sated. And for now, that’s all they need.

-

_10 years later_

They’re in the garden of their small suburban house, surrounded by flowers that grow in beautiful, enchanting colours thanks to what is left by Yuta’s magic. Their hip-length hair is fixed in a bun on top of their head, held in place by a pair of chopsticks.

Mark’s fingers are digging into Yuta’s sides as they slowly lower themselves on his strap. They just recently ordered it, their biggest size yet, and Yuta struggles taking it all, every ridge and inch of Mark’s cock all too palpable as they’re being forced open.

“Y-you have to hurry, or they’ll be home before we’re done here and we don’t want them to walk in on us _again_ , do we?” Mark says with a tremble in his voice, nearly knocking the syringe off of the loveseat they are currently fucking on, that holds the cum that he will fuck into Yuta soon.

The other whines above him, taking another painful inch as their cock spurts another small bead of precum. “It was your p-plan to fuck in the garden, s-so it’ll be your fault…”

Mark laughs, as much as he can when Yuta looks way too pretty taking this much up their ass. “Yes, but you’ll be the one they see losing their mind on my cock,” he says, a hint of evilness to his voice. “And also, I know you are just as eager to see your pretty belly bulge as I am.”

Yuta whines. “I m-miss the times when you were too shy to even ask if I could suck you o-off.” One of their hands comes down to press into Mark’s chest, right in the middle in hopes it can keep them upright. 

There are scars there now. Two parallel to his ribs, long and crossing nearly the whole width of Mark’s torso. They are jarred and more visible than Mark would’ve liked, but the important one is right over his heart. 

It’s a letter in a language Mark still doesn’t know. One that came searing right into his head with a fateful darkness in Yuta’s eyes and a knife pressed into his palm. It still feels like a dream, that Mark sat across from Yuta and brought the knife to his skin, their fingers tracing over the bleeding lines he carved into his chest. It’s a palpable reminder now. That they belong together.

Now, Mark counters Yuta swiftly, sure of himself. “Sure you do, but you like it that I take the initiative more now, don’t you?”

To prove his point, he uses his hands on Yuta’s waist to push them up and off of his cock, quickly flipping them over so Yuta is laying on their back on the loveseat. Mark takes a quick look through the window to look at the clock in their living room to see how much time they have left until their roommates will be back from walking their puppy.

He realizes they don’t have much time at all, and quickly climbs over Yuta, propping their knees over his shoulder and folding them in half as he begins pushing in again. Yuta’s hole is still loose from their extensive session of fingering earlier, accepting the tip of the cock easily, but the deeper Mark pushes, the more it forces them to adapt and relax. They never took something this big.

With soothing kisses to Yuta’s knees, and soft praises against their skin, Mark eases his cock inside slowly. “You’re doing so good, take my cock so well,” he says, making Yuta wail and arch their back, accepting another inch or so.

When finally, after what seems like an eternity, Mark presses in completely, Yuta lets out a sob they’ve been holding in, and curl their hands tighter around where they’re clutching Mark’s forearms.

“ _Fuck_ , s-so full,” they whine, and Mark knows that when they’re in a state to talk, they’re ready for him to move, so he pulls their legs up against him and bends them even more in half, before pulling his hips back just so.

They cry out, feet kicking and head falling backwards to the pillows of the loveseat before forcing their eyes open and their gaze downward. It’s absurd to see such a big thing be pulled from their body, seemingly endless, before Mark finally pushes in again.

Both of them watch with fascination as the space right underneath Yuta’s new bellybutton piercing slowly fills out with Mark’s length, until he’s pressed against Yuta’s ass. He stays there as he comes, raking his trembling fingers over the small bulge in Yuta’s stomach, feeling wetness seep down between his legs.

With half the braincell Yuta has left, they hand Mark the syringe, closing their eyes to concentrate on the feeling of getting filled up even more. Liquid bubbles into them, and they come when Mark moans out a gorgeous ‘ _I love you_ ’, shooting all over their chest and stomach, where Mark is lodged deep inside.

Pulling out feels like Yuta might die, suddenly so empty and lonely, even though Mark is right there with them. His cock hangs heavy and wet between his legs as he presses four fingers back into Yuta all too easily, reaching behind himself with his free hand to take out the plug nestled in his ass.

It’s not big enough, they’ll have to order a new one, but Mark pushes it into Yuta’s gaping hole to keep most of his mess inside, just like they imagined this to go. When they finally look up and away from each other, each and every flower bud around them has opened and blooms in magical pinks, purples and yellows.

Mark collapses on top of Yuta and kisses them deeply. “I love you,” he repeats his earlier words against Yuta’s lips. They grin, ready to speak up when they hear something from inside of the house, a loud clatter and the happy sound of paws against wood, scouring towards them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Yuta curses, pushing Mark off with aching limbs to wrap the towel they conveniently brought, around themselves. “I love you too,” they yell before running off, leaving Mark in the garden, naked and without any protection from being seen. “But I have to limit damage.”

They run into the house, avoiding Chipotle, their French bulldog, by a hair’s breadth, before running up the stairs to Mark and Yuta’s shared room, fast enough to not be seen by their roommates.

Mark can only wait and watch in horror as Chipotle comes running towards him, followed by Johnny sticking his head out of the door a second later. His eyes fall on Mark, then drop to his gigantic strap.

“Jesus Christ, _again_? You really have no decency!” He grabs the blanket from the couch and throws it into the general direction of Mark. “The things Chipotle has to see.” And with that he’s gone, probably to tell Jungwoo about what happened.

Mark wraps the blanket around himself and bends down to scratch Chipotle behind her ear. He looks at the drooling dog, the flowering garden and up to the house he managed to buy with the help of Yuta and his two best friends he found over the years.

He’s come a long way.

He looks up towards the second story of their house then, to the window of their bedroom. Yuta is sitting on the windowsill, looking down at Mark and Chipotle with a fan in their hand, leisurely fanning air at their heated face. The bell hanging off of it stopped chiming years ago, but they don’t care, not when they have a long, happy life in front of them, with Mark by their side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being here, for making it this far, for reading. Please leave me kudos, or even a comment, if you enjoyed this. Tell me your favourite line, something you enjoyed, or just keysmash, anything makes my heart happy when I see the notification for a comment. 
> 
> Twt/ CC: @ninchannie


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